


Aggressive Negotiations

by eryn_laegolas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, Tatooine, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eryn_laegolas/pseuds/eryn_laegolas
Summary: There was no love lost between the Jedi and the young upstart politician from Tatooine. Unfortunately, after one too many attempts on his life, Senator Anakin Skywalker is in need of a bodyguard or two.Or: Anakin doesn't become a Jedi, but the Force still finds a way to bring the gang together.





	1. Chapter 1

Anakin Skywalker was not at all what she expected him to be.

It was the first thought Ahsoka had when she saw him all but slouching in his seat, dressed in a plain dark tunic that made him seem more like a peasant than a politician. He didn’t look like he belonged here, sitting in the middle of Padmé’s penthouse and next to Padmé herself, with her lavish finery and elaborate hair.

Well, technically that was her second thought. The first was sheer awe at his Force presence, at the absurd and eerie way it enveloped him. It was nothing like she had ever sensed before — a persisting brightness that was almost blinding, even with its fraying, darkened edges.

Senator Skywalker stared at them as they entered, face blank and immovable. He didn’t say anything, just leaned back with his arms crossed as Padmé stood to greet them.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, M’Lady,” Obi-Wan said, all formal and proper, like he wasn’t greeting an old friend. Ahsoka would have rolled her eyes if Obi-Wan wouldn’t somehow know she did it. Standing behind her Master, she settled instead for sharing an amused glance with Padmé.

“It has been far too long, Master Kenobi, Ahsoka,” Padmé said, taking Obi-Wan’s hand in her own as she beamed at them in turn. “How was the border dispute on Ansion?”

“You know us, Padmé,” Ahsoka said, grinning. “It was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Obi-Wan turned to her, a hand on his beard. “Careful, Ahsoka. Arrogance in not the Jedi way.”

Ahsoka felt her smile waver, but she refused to let it fall. She’d nail it to her face if she had to. “Of course not, Master,” she said lightly. “Me? Arrogant? Never.”

She felt a sudden tension —  _anger, disgust, power_ — pour outward into the Force, and Ahsoka glanced again at the man on the sofa. He was glaring at them now, lip curled in disgust. Padmé took a step back to the side, so that he could see her and Obi-Wan fully.

“You remember Obi-Wan, don’t you, Ani?” Her words sounded harmless and pleasant, as if her eyes hadn’t narrowed a fraction as she spoke.

When Skywalker —  _Ani,_ because apparently this was an appropriate nickname for someone with such an intimidating glare — didn’t say anything, Obi-Wan bowed and said, “It’s good to see you as well, Senator Skywalker, though I think we all wish it was under better circumstances.”

The look on Skywalker’s face darkened even more. He stood, arms still crossed, and it wasn’t hard to miss how he towered over everyone in the room.

Ahsoka didn’t know much about the senator from Tatooine, nothing beyond what she was told by the Council before they shooed her and Obi-Wan off to this assignment. She could count all she knew about him in one hand — that he was not much older than her, that he had been sixteen when he led the revolt against the Hutts, that he had been working to make Tatooine a part of the Republic ever since, that he was dangerous and powerful and untrained.

It seemed impossible, that one teenager could have done all that. But looking at him now, feeling the way the Force coiled and flowed around him, she found it wasn’t hard to believe at all.

“Let’s cut the small talk,” Skywalker said at last. “I don’t want you here anymore than you want to be here, so just find out who’s trying to kill me and we can all be on our way.”

A frown crossed Obi-Wan’s face. “We’re here to protect you, Senator, not to start an investigation," he said in calm and deliberate tones.

“I don’t need protection! I already told the Chancellor — I need answers. The last thing I want is a pair of over-glorified bodyguards trailing after me.” 

“You need not worry about that. Our presence will be invisible —”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do!”

“Our mandate is to keep you safe, Senator. The Council’s orders —” Obi-Wan’s jaw clenched. His face was a mask of blank politeness, but a wave of regret seeped out into the Force before he could clamp it down.

Ahsoka wondered if Skywalker felt it too, or if she was just imagining the sudden temperature drop in the room.

Skywalker sneered. “Of course. The Council ordered it,” he said coolly. “And you’ve always followed their orders to the letter, haven’t you, Obi-Wan? You haven’t changed at all.”

“You certainly have,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Around Skywalker, the Force crackled with resentment, a roiling mess of bitterness so strong that Ahsoka almost missed it — the ripple of guilt dwarfed by the tide, the eddy of sadness flowing against the current. It was gone as quickly as it came, but it was there, and Ahsoka knew it wasn't coming from Skywalker. 

She looked at her Master. There was something she was missing here, that much was obvious. Not for the first time, her temper flared at how little she knew him, how tightly he gripped to his secrets and kept her at arm's length.

“You’re being really rude,” Ahsoka said to Skywalker, “considering you asked for our help.”

As soon as she said it, she realized she had blurted it out loud. _Like an idiot_.

Obi-Wan clearly thought so. From the corner of her eye, she saw him scowling at her, as taken aback as she had ever seen him.

 _He’s going to kill me,_ Ahsoka thought with a grimace. They had been here for five minutes, and she was already making a mess of their assignment before they had even begun. Some apprentice she was.

But it was too late to take back the words now. Pursing her lips, she met Skywalker’s glare with her own.

“I asked for the Senate’s help,” he snapped. If he was annoyed because of her interruption, she couldn’t tell. The scowl on his face looked like it belonged there. “Not the Jedi’s. Clearly they don’t know what they’re doing, if they’re sending a youngling as security —”

“I’m not a _youngling_. I’m fourteen —”

“ _Fourteen_? Oh, that just makes it so much better —”

“Listen, Skyguy, I —”

“What did you just call me?”

There was a sudden chuckle, badly disguised as a cough. Ahsoka turned and noticed for the first time a young blonde woman, dressed in the same style as Skywalker, at the veranda. Her head was down, but Ahsoka thought she could see her shoulders shaking slightly.

Skywalker must have seen her too, because his lips thinned as he inhaled slowly through his nose. For a moment, it looked like he had calmed down and would let it go, but he continued, “Don’t get snippy with me, little one. I don’t care what you are — you’re not old enough to be here.”

Ahsoka opened her mouth, ready to retaliate, but Obi-Wan stopped her short.

“That’s enough, Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan said sharply. “We’re here to do as the Council instructed, not bicker like younglings. If you want to be treated like the Padawan you are, then you will act like it and learn your place. Is that clear?”

Her mouth snapped shut. Ahsoka was stung to be so dressed down publicly.  She looked down, her embarrassment heightened by the looks she knew she must have been getting from everyone in the room.

“Is that clear, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan repeated.

She closed her eyes and tried to give her shame and anger to the Force. When she opened them again, she bowed to Obi-Wan and hoped he couldn’t see the hurt slipping through the cracks.

“Crystal, Master.”

It wasn’t the answer he was looking for and she knew it, but it was all he was going to get from her. She didn’t want to look at him yet, so she turned to scowl at that rude, arrogant, sorry excuse for a politician who _clearly_ started it.                        

But Skywalker wasn’t glowering at her now. His features had softened, the tension around his eyes melting until Ahsoka thought he looked almost kind. Almost, because she wasn’t exactly itching to be generous towards him, no matter how sad and sympathetic he looked.

There was a long, awkward pause.

“Perhaps we should all just sit down while I have Threepio get us refreshments?” Padmé said, her smile strained.

It was like someone flipped a switch in Skywalker’s brain.

“Don’t bother, Padmé.” Skywalker scoffed, his almost-kind eyes gone as if they had never been there at all. “If they’re not here to investigate, then I don’t see why they should stay.”

“Anakin,” Padmé began wearily, “the Chancellor —”

“I _will_ get my answers, Padmé, with or without the Chancellor’s approval.”

He stormed out abruptly, without giving them another glance.

“I’ll go talk to him,” the blonde woman offered.

Padmé shook her head. “No, this was my idea. I should talk to him.” She gave them another strained smile before exiting the room. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan bowed as she left, but Padmé barely noticed as she hurried after Skywalker.

“That went well,” Ahsoka murmured to the carpet.

Even without looking, she knew Obi-Wan was looking at her with that disapproving frown she knew all too well. It was, she was sure, nothing less than a permanent fixture whenever she was within hearing range. How else could she explain how often that look was directed at her? It was a constant of her apprenticeship, just like his weary headshakes and resigned sighs.

“ _Skyguy?_ “ Obi-Wan said slowly, and Ahsoka tried not to cringe. “That’s hardly a proper way to address a Senator.”

“It’s not like he was acting like one though.”

“Regardless, he _is_ part of the Senate. Whatever you think of him, we still have a job to do.”

“Please don’t judge him too harshly,” the woman interrupted them softly. “I know he can be difficult, but he has a lot on his mind.”

Difficult isn’t exactly the word Ahsoka would have used, but all right. To each her own.

Obi-Wan threw her a look of warning, as if he had heard what Ahsoka was thinking. But it wasn’t like she was going to say it aloud now and risk another reprimand. Even she knew better than that.

Really. She did.

“I’m sure he has,” Obi-Wan said, his tone understanding. A miracle in and of itself, what with how often he sarcastically directed the words to Ahsoka. He smiled at the other woman kindly as she approached. “I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi —”

“Oh, I know who you are,” the woman said, before turning to Ahsoka. “Not you though. I’m Beru Whitesun.”

Her smile was small, but her eyes shone with a warmth that lit up her whole face. Ahsoka found it impossible not to smile back. “Ahsoka Tano. I’m Master Kenobi’s Padawan Learner.”

Beru flinched. It was nothing dramatic, but it was too obvious to brush off. “I know it doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does to us, but Anakin . . .” Beru paused, and her eyes seemed to fix, like she was looking at something that wasn’t there. She shook her head and the gentle smile quickly returned. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t use the word _master_ for a while.”

“But Ma — Obi-Wan is my teacher. What else am I supposed to call him?”

“Anything but that, if you want to get on Anakin’s good side.”

Ahsoka didn’t particularly want to be on Anakin’s good side — or any side of his at all, really — but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t see what the big deal was, but she was sure Obi-Wan would have her head if she pushed it further.

“You will help him, won’t you?” Beru said to Obi-Wan. “He says he doesn’t need it, but he does. He’s in more danger than he wants to admit.”

“We’re here to help, I promise you,” Obi-Wan assured her. He threw Ahsoka another look as he added, “Ahsoka and I will do all we can to protect him.”

“Even if it means helping him investigate?” At Obi-Wan’s frown, Beru hastened to add, “I know it’s not in your mandate, but Anakin meant what he said. He’s going to do it himself if you don’t.”

“I’m afraid —”

“You don't get it — once Anakin sets his mind on something, there's no stopping him. It doesn't matter what you do, he’s going to run headfirst into danger anyway. So if you help Anakin investigate — isn’t that in the interest of protecting him?”

Ahsoka could almost see the gears turning in Obi-Wan’s head. “We will do all we can to protect him,” he repeated.

She didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but Beru nodded, like his answer was satisfactory and not ridiculously vague.

“I’ll have Threepio get us something to drink,” Beru said. “Is there anything you want? Caf? Tea?”

“Tea will be lovely, thank you,” Obi-Wan replied, bowing as Beru left.

It was just Ahsoka and Obi-Wan now. With nothing stopping her, she finally plopped down on the sofa, bouncing as she did. Obi-Wan stared hard at her again, before taking the seat next to her. Of course, he was much more dignified and elegant about it.

Spoilsport.

“Skyguy?” Obi-Wan said. There might have been the suggestion of a smile under the beard, but it was hard to tell with him. Probably just a trick of the light, considering what he thought of her antics.

Ahsoka smiled at him still. “His name’s a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?”

She liked to think Obi-Wan found her amusing, even if that was just slightly better than barely tolerable. It was, at least, better than being seen as an inconvenience, never mind that her Master probably thought she was one anyway.

Skywalker certainly did, but who cared what he thought about her? _Not old enough to be here_? Oh, she’ll show him. She would bite her tongue and bear it, if only to prove him wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! Finals were hell and the past month has been hectic to say the least.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read, subscribed, and left comments and kudos! You guys are amazing.

The room at the end of the hall was the smallest guest room in Padmé’s apartment. It was plain and sparse, furnished only with a bed, a small cabinet, and a window with an nondescript view, its walls unadorned save for an equally nondescript painting.

Padmé had taken to calling it Anakin’s room. Anakin, naturally, would never call it his, but it seemed that whenever he visited, whenever he came to Coruscant, he was always leaving something of his there — a glove, some worn tunics, a number of droid parts.

He had quite a collection now, enough that he could fiddle with those parts and pretend he was busy.

Padmé stood by the door but didn’t enter, waiting for him to acknowledge her. She was certain Anakin knew she was there — he always seemed to, somehow, no matter how quietly she approached.

Still he kept his back to her, and a few seconds passed before he finally put down his wrench and looked up at her, not rising from where he sat at the edge of the bed.

“I’m not going to apologize,” he said coolly.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to.” If it had been anyone else, they would’ve believed her without question, but Anakin knew her better than that. He simply glanced at her, eyebrows raised, and Padmé sighed. “What you did was rude and uncalled for.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me, Padmé. I’m not a child.”

“You’re certainly acting like one.”

Anakin’s jaw clenched. Padmé felt a pang of guilt, but it couldn't quite wash away all of her lingering frustration.

“I know this is hard for you,” she said carefully, moving to sit next to him, “but, Ani, we need their help.”

“Do we? I survived this long without them. I don’t see why they’re deciding to help me now.”

“The Chancellor insisted.”

“The Chancellor is paranoid.”

“He’s worried about you, Anakin,” she said in her mildest voice. “He’s only doing this because he cares about you.”

He seemed to deflate at that, his eyes casting downward. “I know he does. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t wrong about this.”

“You can’t know that for certain.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I? You worry too much.”

The way he said it, so calmly and nonchalantly, made Padmé bristle in frustration.

“Someone has to,” she bit out, standing abruptly. “Because you never worry at all. You’re in _danger_ , Anakin. You have enemies who want to kill you and a bounty on your head to prove it.”

The vehemence of her tone startled her. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember the day of the attack — the feeling of crippling helplessness as she waited for any news, the way her blood froze as she wondered if Anakin was safe, if he was all right, if he was even _alive._

How cold and empty and stifling it had felt when she had thought, for one endless, dreadful moment, that she might never see him again.

“So do you,” Anakin said. He stood, and she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “But I don’t see you with Jedi playing bodyguards.”

“Maybe because I have actual bodyguards,” she said dryly. “And multiple handmaidens to act as decoys. And an actual security detail.”

“I have a security detail.”

“A blaster doesn’t count.”

“I meant Threepio,” Anakin said, sounding innocent and earnest, but he made no effort to school his expression from its straight-faced blankness.

It made her giggle, in spite of herself, and Anakin flashed her a smile that left her breath tangled in her throat. She looked away, oddly flustered.

Quite suddenly, her mind flashed back to the first time they saw each other, years after the whole ordeal on Naboo. He had been taller than her even then, and she thought of how shocked she had been to see him, all broad shoulders and curly hair, when for so long she had thought of him as the little boy who carved her trinkets and called her an angel.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now, with the ease Anakin had found his way back into her life, into a niche of his own that made her feel like he was always meant to be there. But they had spent those first few days dancing around each other, awkward in the way old childhood friends always were, unsure where they stood after years of letters and the occasional holo.

Padmé felt like that sometimes, in those little moments when their fingers brushed or when he looked at her with that intense, inscrutable look in his eyes. She wasn’t sure when it began, but lately it felt as though something had changed between them, and that they were dancing around each other again, around something at once invisible and tangible.

“We just want you to be safe, Ani,” she said softly. “Not just the Chancellor, but Beru, Owen, Cleigg. . . .”            

 _Me,_ she thought.

Anakin sobered instantly. There was something in the way he was looking at her, how his eyes seemed to dance over her face, that made her heart do a strange stutter in her chest.

“I’ll rest easier too,” she admitted in a whisper, “knowing you don’t have to face this alone.”

Anakin took her hands, and only then did Padmé realize how close they were. He bowed his head so their foreheads were almost touching, and if she tilted her head just so, their noses would have brushed.

“You say it like assassination attempts aren’t old news to us by now,” he said just as quietly, the corner of his mouth quirked into a soft smile.

“They don’t usually come this close.”

“I’ll be all right, Padmé. I always am,” he said, and it sounded like a promise, his tone heavy with so much sincerity that she wanted to believe him.

She stared at the hands cradling her own. His were rough and calloused, but they were familiar in a way that reminded her of the spring sunlight of Naboo, warm and gentle and comfortable.

_But you’re not all right, Anakin. You’re really not._

Against every instinct telling her to stay, Padmé took a step back.

“Sometimes we have to let go of our pride and do what is requested of us.” She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them, and Anakin dropped her hands like he had been burned.

“Pride! This isn’t about _pride_ —”

“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, but Anakin had already taken two steps back, the moment fractured between them. “But we can’t change the past. The Jedi may not have been there for you before, but they’re here now.”

“So I suppose I should be grateful then? Should I be jumping for joy that they finally decided I’m worth their time?”

“No, but I’m asking you to let them help you. If not for your sake, then for the people who care about you. For Tatooine. No one wants a dead senator on their hands.”

“The bounty on my head says otherwise,” he deadpanned.

“You know what I mean.” Padmé gave a frustrated little sigh.

Anakin stared intently at her again before heaving a sigh of his own. He pulled his shoulders back, visibly steeling himself. “I don’t have a say in this, do I?"

Of course he didn’t. A request from the most powerful man in the galaxy wasn’t an ordinary request one could simply decline.

“At least try to be civil,” she said. “You’re supposed to be a diplomat. How are you going to get anything done if you’re being impolite?”

“I can multitask,” he said flatly, but his smirk was so disarming that Padmé couldn’t quite suppress a smile. Then, more gravely, Anakin added, “But this doesn’t change anything. Just because the Jedi won’t investigate — I’m still going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Of course you are. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” She couldn’t begrudge him this. After all, it’s what she would have done if she was in his place. “Just be careful, Ani.”

“Please don't call me that.”

“What?”

“Ani. Please don't call me Ani.”

“I don’t understand. I've always called you that.”

“My name is Anakin,” he said calmly, his jaw firm, his eyes strong. “When you say Ani, it's like I'm still a little boy. And I'm not.”

She thought of all those little moments — the quiet intensity of his gaze, their intertwined hands, the warmth that unfurled in her chest when he smiled.

“No, you’re not,” Padmé agreed.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was an awkward affair. Probably the worst Ahsoka had ever had.

All right, maybe not the _worst_ worst, but this was definitely up there. One of the top ten, at least.

Which was a shame, because the food was delicious. Of course, it always was whenever they ate at Padmé’s, but Beru’s cooking was something else. She never thought she would like Tatooine food, yet here she was, quietly certain that blue milk custard was now her favorite dessert.

It was just hard to enjoy when everyone was so quiet, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery, forks scraping against their plates. Even Artoo and Threepio — the protocol droid whose endless _oh dear_ ‘s made Ahsoka want to laugh and roll her eyes at the same time — were off elsewhere, getting oil baths or whatever it was droids do to avoid their masters’ awkward dinners.

 _Lucky them,_ Ahsoka thought, eyes on her plate as she poked at her brisket.

It had been Padmé’s idea. “Come sit with us,” she had said so imploringly that even Obi-Wan couldn’t refuse her. “We’re all friends here.”

But they weren’t, and the tension hung in the air because of it, so thick it almost clung to her skin.

Ahsoka knew that this was somehow Skywalker’s fault, even though he had been silent for most of the evening. He hadn’t said a word to her or to Obi-Wan since returning from wherever it was that he had stormed off too, instead talking with Beru or Padmé or hogging Artoo’s attention when the droid was in the room.

More than once, Padmé tried to start up conversation. It wasn’t that they weren’t trying, because they really were. They answered each of Padmé’s feeble attempts at small talk with their own — politics, Beru’s cooking, Padmé’s decor, the weather. It was just that whenever Obi-Wan or Skywalker said something, the conversation would awkwardly peter out, and silence would descend again.

It seemed that Ahsoka wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to get in between Obi-Wan and Skywalker’s . . . _whatever_ it was that was going on between them.

Padmé knew what it was though, Ahsoka could tell. There was something in the way she talked to Skywalker, in the way she looked at him, that spoke of years of friendship and of something undefinable.

That Beru knew was also a no-brainer. She and Skywalker were obviously close. Their conversations came easily, filled with laughter and inside jokes that Ahsoka almost envied. It was impossible that Beru wouldn’t have at least an inkling of Obi-Wan and Skywalker’s thing — history — whatever-it’s-called.

Her Master, naturally, knew what it was that made Skywalker hate his guts so much. Whatever it was, it was certainly eating him up inside, enough that Ahsoka could feel it leak into the Force.

So that left Ahsoka — the only one who had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Wonderful.

Before she could mull on this further, on her constant cluelessness and her unbearably awful luck, Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

“If I may, Senator Skywalker —” he said, and Ahsoka knew she wasn’t the only one who held her breath, “— who do you think was behind the attack?”

Ahsoka turned to look at Obi-Wan, unable to hide her surprise.

What happened to not exceeding their mandate? Had he changed his mind? She didn’t think he would, no matter what Beru had said. Surely he wouldn’t go against the Council on something like this.

Whatever Obi-Wan was thinking, Ahsoka couldn’t tell. His face was as impassive as ever, and if he sensed her surprise, he made no move to acknowledge it.

Skywalker eyed him warily. “Why? I’ve already told the Jedi my suspicions, and they’ve made their thoughts on the matter clear enough.”

“They have, but I would like to know why you think so, if that’s all right with you.” Obi-Wan said, and Ahsoka recognized the cadence to his voice. It was that unique lilt he got whenever he began negotiations — the one that spoke with just the right amount of interest to spark compromise, but still gave nothing away.

It usually ended with their lightsabers drawn, so Ahsoka wasn’t sure how well this boded for them.

Skywalker’s face was as unreadable as Obi-Wan’s own. They stared at each other, as if in a quiet standoff.

“Fine,” Skywalker said at last, putting his fork down. “I think it was Count Dooku.”

Ahsoka tried to stop herself. She really did.

“The Separatist leader?” she blurted out.

“Who else? Do you know any other Count Dookus?” Skywalker said wryly.

“But that’s impossible! He used to be a Jedi! He wouldn’t —” she stopped, seeing Obi-Wan’s pointed look.

That look was going to get stuck on his face one day. Not that it would make much of a difference — it was already his default expression when it came to her.

Obi-Wan frowned at her some more before turning back to Skywalker. “I do not wish to disagree, but the Count is a political idealist. It’s —”

“Let me guess,” Skywalker said scornfully. “Not in his character? So I’ve been told.”

“What Anakin means to say,” Padmé interjected, ever the diplomat, “is that he has brought this up with Master Yoda and Master Windu. They were not eager to hear Anakin’s explanation, for the same reason you’re disagreeing with him now.”

“Forgive our skepticism, M’Lady, but Count Dooku is something of a legend in the Order. Any Jedi would be hard-pressed to think of him as a murderer,” Obi-Wan said in tones that showed he was finished with this particular line of discussion.

“He’s the leader of the Separatist Movement. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, _Master_ _Jedi_ ,” Skywalker sneered, spitting the title out like it was poison, “but he’s a traitor to the Republic. He’s already thrown his lot in with the Trade Federation, and that just brings us one step closer to war. Just because he used to be one of you doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be thinking of him as suspect number one.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thinned, his eyebrows lowering and drawing together. “There is no evidence to suggest that he was in any way involved.”

“Then go find it!”

“Unless you have something more substantial than a hunch, I’m afraid the Council —”

“He came to Tatooine,” Beru cut in. She gave Skywalker a meaningful look and turned to Obi-Wan, adding, more calmly, “He wanted Tatooine to secede from the Republic.”

“I was getting there,” Skywalker said.

“You were taking too long.”

Ahsoka took another bite of her brisket. She would’ve blurted out something idiotic again if she didn’t. But she couldn’t help but wonder at this new piece of information, and a shared look with Obi-Wan told her that he was doing the same.

It didn’t seem likely that the leader of the Separatists himself would go out of his way to get Skywalker to join him. After all, Tatooine was just a backwater planet, still new and unrecognized by most of the Republic. Sure, the Separatists welcomed any and all to their movement, but what did Tatooine have to get Dooku’s special attention?

“He wants Tatooine’s trade routes,” Skywalker said, answering their unspoken question.

Obi-Wan frowned. “But they’re useless to him unless —”

“We go to war, yes. The good Count seems to think it’s inevitable,” Skywalker said, with a sardonic twist of his mouth. “He gave a tempting offer though. I almost wish I could —” he caught sight of Padmé’s face, “— tell him no again. Because I would never betray the Republic. Ever.”

Obi-Wan’s frown etched itself deeper into the side of his face. “This is —”

“Eye-opening?”

“Troubling,” Obi-Wan said, “but still nothing more than conjectures. To say that Count Dooku was responsible for the assassination attempt —”

“If you were going to just disagree, why did you even ask?”

Ahsoka would swear on her lightsaber that a vein on Obi-Wan’s forehead throbbed.

“Is there anyone else you suspect, Senator?” Obi-Wan said with forced calm. “Anyone else who may have a motive to kill you?”

“The non-Jedi ones, you mean? You’ll have to be more specific — I have a lot of enemies. Would you like a list?”

“Alphabetized, if you please.”

Ahsoka bit her tongue.

_Don’t laugh, Ahsoka. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh. . . ._

Skywalker glared at Obi-Wan for a moment before sighing heavily, leaning back on his seat with a bored expression, like such a simple question could be that much of an inconvenience.

“I don’t know. I guess Gardulla, Ziro — all the Hutts that weren’t killed during the revolt. They might want revenge or to take Jabba’s place . . . Colandrus, Aak, Moe, some other senators —”

“You think someone in the Senate is trying to assassinate you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Skywalker said impatiently. “You wanted people with a motive to kill me, and I’m not exactly the most popular person in the Senate.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Ahsoka mumbled.

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at her, and Ahsoka realized she had said it louder than she had thought. Before Ahsoka could pray for the ground to swallow her whole, Beru laughed, grinning at Ahsoka widely, and just like that the knot in her gut loosened in relief.

Unsurprisingly, Obi-Wan wasn’t as amused, shooting her a warning glare that she pretended not to see — because really now. He could sass Skywalker but she couldn’t? Not fair.

Padmé smothered a smile, ladylike as ever, and Skywalker —

Skywalker rolled his eyes, but Ahsoka could have sworn he was smirking. Not a holier-than-thou, I-am-better-than-you-in-every-way kind of smirk, but a smirk that looked . . . amused? An _amused_ smirk. It wasn’t even the pitying sort of amusement either, like the kind you gave to someone who told an unfunny joke. No, this wasn’t that. Ahsoka _knew_ her smirks, and the one on Skywalker’s face was a smirk of _genuine_ amusement.

Weird. Really weird.

He did know that she was insulting him, didn’t he? Surely no politician could be that dense.

Still Ahsoka felt strangely pleased. Smirks of genuine amusement were the unofficial banner of camaraderie, a sign that you actually liked someone, or at least tolerated them enough to think they were funny.

Not that Ahsoka cared about acceptance from total strangers or anything like that — especially not Skywalker, of all people — but it was still a nice feeling. She was pretty sure she never got smirks of genuine amusement from Obi-Wan. The most she had ever gotten from him were amused smirks at her misery, and those definitely didn’t count.

Deciding she had spent far too much time thinking about this, she tried to ignore the smirk. Instead, she rolled her eyes back at him.

“I’m sure you’re all aware that the Senate isn’t what it should be,” Padmé said. “There are many who are corrupt and self-serving, and Anakin —” she threw Skywalker a withering glance, “— has been very vocal about what he thinks of them.”

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Skywalker said earnestly, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “I was just practicing my right to free speech.”

Beru chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”

“It could be Orn Free Taa,” Skywalker continued. “He’s one of the Senators supporting the Miitary Creation Act. We had a” — he paused, as if to look for the right word — “ _disagreement_ about it last time we saw each other. He could be a suspect, him and his entire posse.”

“Except you don’t think it’s him,” Obi-Wan said.

“No, I don’t,” Skywalker said, much to Ahsoka’s surprise. She had half-expected him to say yes just to disagree with Obi-Wan. “If this was over the bill, they wouldn’t be targeting me.” He looked over at Padmé, and his eyes seemed to soften as he did.

Beru nodded. “It’s definitely the Separatists’ doing. It has to be.”

“But that makes no sense,” Ahsoka said. “Negotiations are still ongoing. They want peace as much as we do. Why would they risk all that for trade routes?”

“Because they actually _want_ to go to war,” Skywalker said. “Think about it — everyone knows the Republic won’t let them leave. Those negotiations? They’re not going to end the way the Separatists want it to end. War is the only way they’re going to get what they want, and to win that they need Tatooine’s hyperspace routes. They’ll never be able to get to the Outer Rim worlds without them.”

“So they want to kill you over trade routes,” Ahsoka said, slowly and dubiously.

“It’s not as simple as that,” Beru said hesitantly. “Tatooine isn’t exactly — well, not everyone back home thinks joining the Republic was a good idea.”

“A lot of people weren’t happy when I rejected Dooku’s offer,” Skywalker said, suddenly grim. “If I’m out of the picture, I can’t promise Tatooine won’t end up siding with the Separatists.”

Ahsoka frowned. “So you’re telling me the fate of the galaxy depends on you, is that it?”

Skywalker, surprisingly, laughed. “Well, when you put it like that. . . .”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Obi-Wan said. “We don’t have proof — we can’t simply accuse a known nobleman of warmongering without evidence.”

“We could if there was an investigation.”

Obi-Wan ignored the blatant attempt at restarting their argument, stroking his beard as he made a thoughtful noise. “Does the Chancellor know about all this?”

“He shares our concerns,” Padmé replied. “It’s why he requested to have Anakin placed under your protection.”

Skywalker made a face at that. He looked like he wanted to argue about it, but for whatever reason, he kept his lips sealed, his jaw clenched.

“I’ll have to inform the Council,” Obi-Wan said. “They’ll be interested to know about your meeting with Count Dooku.”

“And after that?” Padmé asked.

Obi-Wan frowned, but didn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Ahsoka had immediately gone to search the adjoining chambers, trying to get a feel for the place.

At least, that was what she had said when she excused herself. Mostly, she just didn’t want to be stuck in the same room as Obi-Wan and Skywalker. There was only so much passive-aggression she could handle in one evening, after all.

But she did look around the massive apartment complex, feeling for any disturbance in the Force. She knew her Master would be doing the same, wherever he was. The more she probed though, the more she found herself agreeing with Skywalker. Not about the need for an investigation or his theories, but about her and Obi-Wan’s mandate.

As Ahsoka searched the apartment, it became clear that Skywalker didn’t need the Jedi’s protection at all. Every corridor, above, below, and near Skywalker’s room, had at least one guard posted, alert and ready. She recognized them as Padmé’s guards, but she was sure they were there to protect both senators. With so many soldiers standing guard, and Captain Typho overseeing the defensive perimeter, Ahsoka couldn’t imagine how an intruder could possibly get in.

When she got back to the living room, she found Obi-Wan standing in the middle of the room, eyes on the screen of his view scanner. There was a slight frown creasing the space between his eyebrows.

“Something wrong, Master?” Ahsoka asked.

Obi-Wan looked up, frowning. “What happened?” he demanded.

There was an urgency to his tone, almost accusatory, that immediately put Ahsoka on the defensive.

“Nothing! Nothing happened! Whatever it is, I didn’t do it, I swear.”

Obi-Wan gave a little shake of his head, sighing exasperatedly. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka said eloquently. “What did you mean then?”

He showed her the view scanner. On the screen, only part of Skywalker’s room was shown — the door area and Artoo standing by the wall.

“Skywalker covered the cams,” Ahsoka explained. “He wants to use himself as bait.”

Obi-Wan’s face tensed. “He wants to _what_?”

“It was Padmé’s idea, apparently,” she said, shrugging. “But don’t worry. Skywalker programmed Artoo to warn us if anything happens.”

“And he thinks that’s enough?” Obi-Wan asked incredulously, his eyes widening with shock and disbelief. “He thinks compromising his security is enough to catch this assassin?”

“Well, Beru did warn you he’d do something like this.”

“His security is paramount, and you just let him get away with it? Why didn’t you stop him?”

Why didn’t she?

Ahsoka bit her lip, trying to think of an excuse. That she actually agreed with Skywalker’s plan didn’t sound as reasonable as it did earlier.

“Because I didn’t want to be rude?” She cringed the moment the words left her mouth. It sounded worse than it did in her head.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms. She tried not to squirm under his gaze, preparing for another bout of scolding, delivered in his patented I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed tone.

Miraculously, it didn’t come. He just heaved a deep sigh and replaced the scanner on his belt, sparing her one last glance before settling down into one of the sofas, closing his eyes as he entered into a meditative trance.

Somehow, this made her feel worse.

Ahsoka knew she wasn’t the Padawan Obi-Wan would have chosen for himself. He never said so, but she doubted Obi-Wan would have ever looked twice at her if Master Yoda hadn’t all but ordered him to take her.

But knowing that her Master wasn’t keen on training her was one thing. Being proved right about it was another. Obi-Wan didn’t hate her — hatred wasn’t the way of the Jedi — but he certainly didn’t like her, did he?

If Barriss was here, she would have told Ahsoka that she was overreacting. She would have told Ahsoka that Obi-Wan did care for her, even if he didn’t show it.

But Barriss didn’t understand. How could she? She had a Master who actually liked her. Meanwhile, Ahsoka was stuck with a Master who barely tolerated her, a Master she knew so little about that he was practically a stranger, never mind that she had been his apprentice for nearly a year now.

Not for the first time that day, she found herself wondering about all the things she didn’t know about Obi-Wan — or, rather, one thing in particular.

Ahsoka wondered if the Council knew about Obi-Wan and Skywalker’s shared history. It didn’t seem possible that they would be just as in the dark as she was. Then again, if they did know, giving Obi-Wan this assignment didn’t seem particularly wise of them, from where Ahsoka was standing.

Whatever it was that happened between Obi-Wan and Skywalker, it seemed to involve the Jedi. But what it was and what went down, Ahsoka couldn’t even begin to guess.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Padawan?” Obi-Wan said after a few minutes, opening his eyes and coming out of his trance. He didn’t seem mad or disappointed, just mildly curious and expectant, like someone making small talk about the weather.

“Nothing, Master,” Ahsoka said. “Just that your beard looks really nice today. Perfectly trimmed.”

A corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched. Score.

“What is it, Ahsoka?” he said, and Ahsoka hesitated.

“I was just wondering — about Senator Skywalker —” she began, but Obi-Wan stiffened as soon as she did. The movement was barely perceptible, but Ahsoka could sense his resignation, as though he already knew what she was going to say and was reluctant to hear it. It made her feel guilty enough to change tracks, “— and Senator Amidala.”

The slight tilt of Obi-Wan’s brow told her she wasn’t fooling anyone, but Ahsoka plunged onward.

“They seem really close. I didn’t think they were actually friends. I was wondering how they know each other.”

“I think Senator Amidala is in a far better position to answer that.”

“Well, she’s asleep and you know the story anyway,” Ahsoka said. She sat next to him, placing her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands — the picture of an eager audience. “So?”

Obi-Wan stood, his back to her. “They met ten years ago, when Senator Amidala was still Queen. It was during the invasion of Naboo — you’ve heard of the incident, I’m sure.”

“How come she never mentioned him?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? Her personal life isn’t our business.”

There he was again, being all vague and evasive.

 _I take it back_ , Ahsoka decided, suddenly irritated. She was going to ask him about his _thing_ with Skywalker, potential awkwardness be damned.

“And how do _you_ know him, Master?” she said, petulance creeping in her voice as she straightened up. “Was it from the invasion too?”

Obi-Wan stilled, his face a muddle of surprise, exasperation, and guilt. For a moment, it seemed like he was deciding whether to ignore her or give yet another lecture. Ahsoka was trying to decide which one she’d prefer when she sensed it — something was stirring in the Force.

Ahsoka’s eyes widened, and she sprung from her seat in alarm.

“I sense it, too,” Obi-Wan said breathlessly. They glanced at each other and exploded into motion.

By the time Ahsoka and Obi-Wan burst into Skywalker’s room, Artoo was shrieking, catching on to the threat as he tootled a series of alarms.

Skywalker was awake, standing over the bed with a blaster in one hand. He turned to them as they entered, looking remarkably aggravated for someone who just had another near-death experience. As if the whole thing was nothing more than a petty inconvenience, disturbing him from his beauty sleep.

“What took you so long?” he said.

Artoo’s light focused on the bed, and Ahsoka saw a burned spot in the center of the once pristine white sheets, the charred remains of what used to be — well, _something_.

“We came as soon as we could,” Ahsoka said.

“Not soon enough.”

Ahsoka opened her mouth to retort, but —

“Droid!” Obi-Wan cried, and Ahsoka and Skywalker turned to see him rushing for the window. There, hovering outside, was a courier droid, its appendages retracting fast.

Obi-Wan leapt into the blinds, taking them with him right through the window, shattering the glass. Ahsoka felt him reach into the Force as he leapt, using it to extend his jump, to send him far through the air to catch hold of the retreating would-be assassin. With his added weight, the floating droid sank considerably, but it compensated and stabilized quickly, leaving Obi-Wan hanging on to it a hundred stories up.

Ahsoka watched, vaguely impressed and annoyed, as the droid flew off, taking her Master with it.

 _And he calls_ me _reckless_.

Ahsoka made to rush for the door, ready to go after him, only to stop abruptly as Skywalker stood in front of her.

“Stay here!” he instructed sternly. “Watch her, Artoo!”

“But I can help!”

But Skywalker had already sprinted out of the room, running full out for the turbolift and leaving Ahsoka alone, surrounded by broken glass and a still screeching droid.

Well.

That was exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or suggestions or just want to talk SW or whatever, feel free to comment.


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